My friend the river never fit their mold either.
He’d carry their barges and pleasure boats, then
Reclaim a field that once had been his or hold
A swimmer too close, not giving up what he took.

I tried the carnival balls and white gloves prescribed
For proper Southern girls, but was more Southern
Than prim, understanding the sameness of the
River’s currents and mine pushing against our banks.

No corsets for him or me; I stole his dogwoods
For a gown while matrons clucked at my shame and
Their regret – still needing us to validate
The tight patterns of life ordained for gentle folk.

So I threw away hats and teas and ritual crap
For a beach, typewriter and me, succeeding
At my grandest failure in conformity.
My river egged me on and reclaimed a whole street.

It’s the spooky season of October, so I’ve re-posted an appropriate story I wrote a year ago this month for Deep South Magazine. Read Kith and Kin at —

Kith and Kin

Diane Thomas-Plunk’s story, “Cassie’s Chair,” has been chosen as a finalist in the prestigious, annual short fiction competition sponsored by Fabula Press. As such, it will be included in an anthology available later this summer on amazon.com. When the book becomes available, a copy of the story will be posted here.

Steel Toe Review, an online literary journal, annually publishes a print issue and selects that content from the short stories published throughout the year. I was notified this morning that my story, ‘Sole,’ will be included in this year’s print issue. Great news! You can read “Sole’ online by following this link.

“Sole” by Diane Thomas-Plunk

First published here

Mom’s head tilted toward the sound from the living room. She peeked around the door from the kitchen and saw five-year-old Priscilla tip-toeing, nearly to the front door.

“Priscilla, where are you going?”

“Away. I’m running away.”

“I see.” Mom walked into the brightly colored living room and sat on the sofa. “You weren’t going to tell me? That makes me sad.”

“Sorry.”

“So, where are you going?”

“Mimi’s. She loves me. She’s not mean to me.”

… Continue reading

First published here

His illness was long, but the funeral seemed longer. Worth Maloney had been a leader, a force of nature, a star in the small community. He’d done so much for so many that every pastor in the little town wanted, needed his time to regale Worth’s contributions. He’d been the loan officer of the town’s only bank, the man who manipulated rules to give loans to townspeople of questionable credit. Worth knew they’d make good. He was a deacon in the church, a member and sometimes president of every fuzzy animal men’s club in town, chairman of the little food bank, founder of housing for local lost souls, a long-time member of the Jubilee, Mississippi’s city council where he regularly and humbly declined offers of the mayoral position and, instead, received the implied crown of leadership without official vote. Worth was the go-to guy for everything in Jubilee.

Then he died.

Izzy, the only child of Worth and Mabel, was reluctantly charged with all the funeral arrangements and her mother’s uncertain future.

… Continue reading

First published here

It would be a grand outing. Not one of Opal Pratt’s making, of course. She didn’t like to go any further into Vicksburg than the Piggly Wiggly at the eastern edge of town. She lived out in Warren County and was certain she wasn’t meant for the city. Her young friend, Billy Jamison, had persuaded her.

“Miss Opal, I did chores up and down the road last summer and I saved my money for somethin’ special. I know I have enough for lunch and a movie at that new, fancy movie theater, Saenger’s. You have to take me; you just have to. You know Mom and Dad won’t do it. Please, please, Miss Opal.”

… Continue reading

First published here

Annabel stood in the spare room, cluttered with boxes and assorted junk, and struggled for inspiration to help transform the mess into a snuggly nursery. She absent-mindedly stroked her burgeoning baby bump. The monotone of CNN was white noise in the background. Until the key words blared clearly: Camp Leatherneck, Helmand Province, Afghanistan; shooting; Afghan police trainees fire on Americans; two Marine instructors dead; others wounded; names withheld pending notification.

Annabel found herself in the living room, seated on the coffee table, fixated on the news. That’s where Josh is. That’s his assignment. He – and others from here – are instructors. CNN said that, upon being handed a loaded weapon as part of the training exercise, an Afghan police trainee turned the weapon on the Marines, wounding several, killing two.

… Continue reading.